


Shadows in the Snow

by Curious_Reader



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-03-13 17:19:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13575300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curious_Reader/pseuds/Curious_Reader
Summary: This is my outlander secret Santa 2018 written for the incomparable kalendraashtar who asked for a Modern AU with a conflict that may or may not be resolved during Christmas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my outlander secret Santa 2018 written for the incomparable kalendraashtar who asked for a Modern AU with a conflict that may or may not be resolved during Christmas.

Another pint and another ten minutes. This had become the routine. Every night the same pub, the same stool, and a number of pints, always increasing from the night before. The pub was nothing special, but offered a few select services that no other pub in the area would; darkness to hide one’s secrets, anonymity; no one asked questions, and really no one cared, so long as you paid your tab, and finally it welcomed you to stay as long as you like, never once mentioning heading home to “someone special.” No, this was the perfect place to shut down and just ignore whatever may be plaguing your mind, ignore the life you pretend to live outside the smoke-stained wood paneling.

There was any number of things though, that one would wish to forget. A wish that, with just a click of a button or a finished pint, the next morning would see those things forgotten, leaving only the good, or at least the less painful. Unfortunately, that isn’t how these things work.  No matter what was done, how much was drank, how many therapy sessions logged, all you could do was trudge through the motions of day-to-day life.  Nothing could wash away the pain. Most things, broken bones, near death scrapes, broken hearts, hell even the soul crushing pain of losing one’s family, all of that was expected.  That was life, and while painful, could be borne. Peace could be made and eventually life would resume, altered as is may be, and ultimately move forward.  Operation “Black Jack” though, could never be forgotten, and no amount of trying would wash it away. Booze was just a temporary means to numb the pain brought on so violently by the relentless memories.

“Black Jack” was supposed to be a quick in-and-out mission, no more than a day. But like the adage says, “you plan, and God laughs.” Johnathan Randall was a once-exemplary soldier who had worked his way up the ranks to captain, running a well-oiled, efficient troop. All that stopped though about 2 years into his promotion.  Communication stopped, and his team was abandoned with no further notice regarding their leader.  Word quickly started to spread about the inner working of his troop.  Various reports that began to come out about how Captain Randall kept his team motivated to work harder and produce the results that would benefit him the most. It was reported that his motivation was advancement and power, using any means necessary to get there. After a few months of radio silence, members of his team began to feel safe enough to speak to the higher ups about their experiences. It came to light that not only did the captain use physical training, and verbal cues to motivate the troop, but fear as well, promising physical attacks to those troop members who were not up to snuff, and what was reported as “special meetings” within Randall’s quarters with those whom he liked the most. That was all any higher ups could ever get out of the men and women who had been brave enough to speak up. At six months and eight soldiers quietly speaking out about Randall’s behavior a search mission was purposed and put into action.

A team of seven specially trained men were put into place with minimal instructions: get in, get Randall dead or alive, and get home. Of course, there was a general idea of where he could be found, but the only information that could be provided with confidence was months old and mixed with some reports of locals who had claimed to see a man matching Randall’s description. And so, the team was prepped and dropped in to what seemed to be the most likely place. Nothing could have prepared them for the hell that awaited them.

Extraction team Leoch was composed of seven men who had “grown” up together during their time in the military.  They had been together since basic training, and purposefully been kept together to strengthen their trust. Willie, Angus, Rupert, Murtagh, Jamie, Fergus, Ian were always together and there was never a question on if they would take this mission, but rather when they would leave. Though some had families back home, the understanding was made clear. There would be danger, but it was necessary, not one of the men would let the rest go without them. They’d never be able to forgive themselves.

The day arrived, and the men “prepared” to enter the extraction mission they thought they were ready for. It wouldn’t be until later that they realized they were far too comfortable with it. This was made abundantly clear within days. The team was broken up, Jamie, Ian and Murtagh were captured.  The rest were assumed to be killed almost immediately.  They would never be found or seen again. Over the next few weeks a different officer would come in and take either Murtagh or Ian out and bring them back barely alive. They never once took Jamie, never once even acknowledging him. He would yell and scream and even try to start a fight, but the men would always act like he wasn’t there, to the point he began to believe maybe he wasn’t.  He would do whatever he could to help Ian and Murtagh, but often they were too far gone to even know their own names. Finally, though, the day came that the guards came in, and when Jamie fought, they fought back, with a sudden brutality that he could never have anticipated. They bashed his head repeatedly, and the next thing he remembered is waking up screaming in a bright room where he was alone, and then again in what he had soon learned was a hospital, being told he was lucky, and that Claire was on her way.

That was his torture.  He could never remember everything. Of course, he remembered what had happened up until that night when the guard finally came for him, but everything else was lost completely for weeks.  At first when he got home there was nothing, but not long after at nights, he would dream, violent, visceral dreams. He spent months trying to convince himself that they were nothing more than fictions his brain formed, but he knew what they were, and knew that they would be with him for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter that Ian was safe at home.  It didn’t matter that Murtagh was thriving now in France, and it would never matter that he was whole, and safe, and had a beautiful woman waiting for him at home, waiting to be allowed to able to try and help him. None of it matters.  All he could do was hope that with this one last pint, he could forget.  He could sleep through the night, and he could forget that the traitorous scum was never found, that he would never have to answer for taking away his life and leaving him left with the shadow of what life should have been for him.


	2. Chapter 2

Being filled with two very different emotions at one time has always intrigued Claire. Normally, she would question it, try to better understand the “Why?” Tonight isn’t normal though, and there is no questioning what she is feeling or why. From her perch at the end of the bar, she can see him clearly. Finishing her drink, she motions to the bartender for another; hoping the whiskey would fortify her tonight as it always had before. 

She knew where he’s been at night these last few months. He’s gracious enough to at least drop a text; but that is all she’s ever gotten, a quick “ at the pub”. Information enough to avoid concern on her part, but certainly not enough to start any type of conversation. What she hadn’t known, at least at first, was that he wasn’t alone.  Of course, she knew he would never actually do anything, she knew it with every last stubbornly rational bain cell she had left. It was that, along with the whisky, that kept together her together at this point. Claire was pleasantly surprised to learn though, that a heart doesn’t have to break.  Sometimes it just stops, just long enough that every subsequent beat will send pain radiating through her body.

They had known Mary for years. She was married to Ronald, a member of Jamie’s unit. Having only met him a handful of times, he always came off as a quiet and uncomfortable man. Claire would have paid him no mind, but shortly after the teams had been sent out, Mary came limping into the clinic. Brutal as he apparently was, Ronald seemed to still retain some sense. All of Mary’s bruises and cuts were deep, but not even an eighth of an inch outside of where her clothing fell. After that visit, Claire kept a distant, but close eye on Mary.  It wasn’t hers to worry, and really, nothing could be done with their men sent away. All she could do was provide what information she could for support for victims and offer to be there, if Mary wished. 

When the news came that Ronald wouldn’t be coming home, Claire had seen the men show up. Despite knowing the situation at home, her heart still seized, for just a moment. Those men at your door, was every spouse’s worst nightmare. She watched for a moment, stunned to see that they never moved into the house, the whole visit took maybe ten minutes. There was no outpour of emotion from Mary either, just a nod and a closed door. After the funeral and the men had came home, it was clear to everyone something had happened within the unit. Each man would have to deal with what they knew and what their role had been. But, no one asked what happened to Ronald, past what they were told, and no one cared. Ronald McNabb became a whispered name of a forgotten past; one that Claire had willfully worked to forget about. Until tonight. When, finally, she had had enough of going to sleep alone, of never seeing her husband for more than a few moments at a time. 

She knew when he came home things would never be quite as they once had been, and seeing him proved just how true that was. He was broken. When he came home, he was weak, and still recovering from the injuries. When she tried to help him though, he would either shrink away in fear or defend himself violently. He never slept anymore, even working the shifts she did, she noticed. When she woke, or returned from an overnight shift his side was never mussed, his entire presence gone completely, like he had never been home. They no longer talked, past necessity, and physicality between them was such a laughable thought. The physical pull and closeness they had once shared, was gone. Some days, Claire half wondered if she had just imagined that it had been there; but then she would be reminded, if only briefly. Sporadically and completely out of need, Jamie would return from the pub, at God knew what hour, to her bed. She could smell the alcohol on him, could feel the rigidly in his muscles, could tell he was only half there at best. But, if he was willing, she would let him. She would allow him to take whatever he needed from her, asking nothing in return. That hadn’t happened though for a few weeks. Recently there had been nights that she knew he never even made it home. 

She hasn’t been sleeping lately either, for fear of where he is, what might have happened to him. Hell, last week she drove to Jenny and Ian’s and spent a few nights with them, and Jamie never noticed, never said anything about it to her. She had spent more time than she cared to admit thinking about that, trying to puzzle out why her once very protective husband, no longer cared where she spent her nights, why he didn’t seem to sense her presence anymore. The missing piece was clear to her now, like it had been there all along; sitting unassumingly across the bar from her. 

She had been here all night. She had taken the night off from the hospital, secured a dark corner of the bar, and waited. She had seen his car pull up through the nicotine stained window, heard the low timber of his voice as he addressed someone out of sight, and watched as he walked in, signalling for a beer, and slowly began to drown himself. The fact that he trusted his surroundings amazed her, even before he left, anywhere they went he would always be looking around him, always know who was there, where they were sitting and if they had moved, where they had gone. But here, here is a trust was unlike any she had ever seen him display, and that thought alone unnerved her to no end.  

This, unfortunately, was where her plan came to a stop. She hadn’t drawn up elaborate ruses, or made up costumes and code names. She had never had any intention of more than just seeing him, even if it was just to watch him drink alone at a bar, and momentarily get to share the same space as him. She missed him. But, several hours into her part time job as an obsessive barfly, she realized that he seemed, not happy here, but comfortable, in a way she hadn’t seen in a very long time. Her plan no longer mattered, she shouldn’t be here anymore. She didn’t want to begrudge him what solace he might find, she could give him just a bit longer. She would wait for him, always. 

Digging out some bills to pay for her drinks and head home, she looked up when she heard the door open and just for a moment, Claire froze. In came Mary McNabb, who hadn’t been seen around since the funeral. She waved at the bartender and sat next Jamie as her drink was set down. Claire couldn’t breathe for just a moment.  She was certain she hadn’t moved and couldn’t fathom doing so until the still functioning part of her brain began to process what she was watching. Jamie wasn’t surprised to see Mary, not in the least. They were chatting, like this was their every day, every night occurrence, and those two words brought back to life some of Claire’s motor function. She waved down the bartender and ordered another, never once tearing her eyes away from the scene across the bar. 

Mary and Jamie talked endlessly, quiet and close. A hand on an arm here, a deep soul tearing chuckle there. Each small action making the liquor in her glass to burn hotter with each sip. They were friendly, far more than they had ever been before, and she supposed, in a way that made sense. Jamie had told her so before, how she couldn’t begin to understand what had happened there, and it appeared that he had found someone who might. Or, at least who had lived through a hell close enough to his to understand. 

Claire now felt keenly aware that she didn’t know what to do, hadn’t known what to do before all of this, and was now regretting everything from not making a proper plan to getting out of bed this morning. Sitting on her stool had accomplished nothing, save a slight buzz and bruised and battered ego and pride. The killing blow didn’t come until a few minutes later though, when finally deciding that enough was enough and it was time to go home, she saw movement.

The buzzing in her ears muted everything else, the sounds of the other patrons, the shattering of her glass on the floor, the apology she wasn’t sure she had said out loud as she placed what money she had on the bar, and finally it muted her heart.  

As she stared across the bar and into the eyes of a stunned Jamie who had broken the kiss when the glass shattered, and hope disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re still there and still interested, here is part ¾ of Shadows in the Snow (2,390 words!). This is was a chapter that kicked me up and down the keyboard, but I kept at it because the excitement from @kalendraashtar any time I updated, or hinted at this story made me smile for days. One more chapter left!  
> I hope you all enjoy this, and as always questions or constructive criticism is always welcome.

More often than not, Jamie knew he was an intelligent man. He was well educated and liked to believe that he thought things through. This, however, was not one of those times. He had known she was in the pub and had half hoped she would have confronted him or said something, instead of just sitting there trying to watch him surreptitiously. He had done everything he could to try to act like he didn’t know she was there and that everything was normal. For a time, he was successful. He was able to fool himself into thinking that he was back to what had once been his normal self. That maybe they could pretend they didn’t know each other yet, that they could pretend to meet again, flirt, and fall into bed. That they could pretend together the hell they…he had put them through in the last months hadn’t happened.

He had become a bastard though. He was of the mindset that if he couldn’t move past the pain he held inside him, then he would do what he could to make others feel something close to what he was. He had actively been pushing those around him away. Since coming home he’d seen his sister and her family maybe once, and if he was being honest he wasn’t there, just nodded and supplied some short noncommittal responses when necessary. He didn’t see what friends he might have still had. He just existed. His days had become all the same anymore, blending into a blur of mundane tasks, fueled by the liquor he would lose himself in at the end of the day. He would go to the base and pretend to get things done. He’d go to the pub and drown his thoughts away and then sit the dark study in her home. Her home, because like everywhere else, he wasn’t ever really there anymore.

Claire, God, Claire- She had been more than amazing with him. How she was still willing to stay with him was absolutely beyond him, and if he were honest, he hated every second of it. Seeing her every day was eating away at him more and more with each new day. He wasn’t as switched off as he may seem. He knew when she didn’t sleep, when she waited for him, and when she wasn’t home. He always knew where she was though. He never thought she was at another man’s house, but that she was always with someone safe, Jenny’s or even Joe’s. He knew everything and knew that he should care more. He should be doing something to show her know he was still there, that he still cared deeply. Every fiber of his being needed her to know that he still loved her, and that he only ever wanted the best for her, but that was no longer him. Jamie knew he could no longer be what Claire needed or deserved. He had known it for weeks since the last time she had allowed him to her bed. He knew then that she’d never leave him. She was determined to be strong for him, to do anything he asked, to make him “happy.” God how he hated that, hated her compassion. She would run herself ragged for everyone else, but never stop and ask for help. He needed to end this. If he could do nothing else for her, then the least he could do was give her the freedom from the Hell that surrounded him.

Mary was a friend to him, after Rabbie. They could easily talk and know that the other would understand. She knew what was going on in his life and the struggle he was having with Claire. And in turn, he knew of her life after the funeral, that she had taken her sons and moved off base, and the rumors that were still whispered about their home life. Knew she was struggling on her own trying to adjust at her mother’s. It was no longer strange to either of them. Over the months of them running in to each other at this pub, they each began to look forward to the end of their days. The hours they would take, to share, and even to dare to dream of what their lives would reveal next. Neither were stupid though, and Jamie most keenly, was aware that it wasn’t fair though. He didn’t hold any affection for Mary, no more than that of an understanding friend and a willing ear for her problems. “Emotional adultery” he knew, he absolutely knew, and it was killing him. He kept telling himself that it would stop, that he wouldn’t go that night, that he would go to confession, and then he would go home and confess everything to his heart and beg for her forgiveness. That was 4 months ago, and with every night he lost more and more resolve. Nothing would save him, no priest, no time to himself, and not Claire.

Mary, of course, knew all of this and finally asked him what he did want to do. He was always talking about what he didn’t want to do, what he couldn’t do. When she had asked him, Jamie sat in stunned silence for minutes. She knew when he had formulated an answer, because he finally broke. They stayed till closing and she just sat with him with him in silence as tears fell down his face and into his beer.

The plan seemed simple, heartbreaking, but simple. He would give life to the suspicions he knew Claire had to have had by then. It seemed the only way. He would take the fall, be the jackass, break her heart, and end it all. It would all be for the best.

There were several things though, that Jamie had not accounted for. When Claire’s glass shattered, the look in Claire’s eyes, the gut wrenching hatred he had for himself, and the sudden urge to drop to his knees and beg her forgiveness. He stood frozen for 6 of the longest heartbeats and then ran as fast as his legs could carry him. She had left the bar and, as far as he could tell, had vanished. He ran throughout town. He ran to Joe and Gail’s. He briefly checked home. He ran to the hospital and called Jenny, but Claire was nowhere to be found. After checking everywhere he could think of, he stopped running and made his way home again. His brain had shut down, thoughts weren’t racing, not even the guilt was there, just the sound of his breathing from his impromptu long-distance sprint.

Walking into their home though, his thoughts started up again. Claire was home. He could always tell without seeing her that she was near. The air always felt different when she was around. It crackled and he could smell her, not perfume because she never wore anything like that, but, the smell of her; mixed with her garden and the lingering scent of the hospital. It all made up the olfactory phenomena that was his wife. He knew he would never forget that and he never did. When they had been shipped off before, he could always close his eyes and take in the smells around him. The blood and the sweat would all disappear and suddenly Claire was surrounding him. It had kept him alive. In this moment though, it was different. This made the memories burn at the edges, no longer crisp and bright, but ruined. This was the moment and he knew it. He couldn’t run, she would have heard the door at this point. He wouldn’t cower. He had to be strong. James Fraser was never a weak and cowering man. He had fought in wars, been beaten and broken, and stood at the gates of Hell and never flinched. But standing before Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp-Fraser after betraying her? That was worse than any Hell he’d ever seen or been threatened with.

Again, Jamie knew he could be smart from time to time. So, he just sat down at the kitchen table and didn’t say a word. Waiting.

——-

When she left the pub, Claire didn’t have a plan. She just knew she needed to leave and clear her mind before even beginning to speak to Jamie. She left and stood, back against the wall in the small alley between the pub and the next building. Much like she anticipated he ran at full tilt past her and never noticed. She could very well have gone to any number of safe havens but instead she went to the small corner store, purchased a six of whichever beer her hand landed on and went to the cemetery. She had always found a morbid calm in sitting with the resting, especially those whom she had loved. She walked the familiar path and found who she was looking for. She scrunched down, leaned her head on the headstone and watched the stars. Brian Fraser had always been a good listener when she and Jamie were having a hard time of it. It was odd, she thought, because she had never met the man, but felt maybe he’d welcome her and have something to say regarding whatever issues she brought to him. She’d been assured enough times from Jamie that “he would have loved her” to believe that he would be alright with her sporadic visits. Jamie didn’t know any of this of course. He would never assume she would come here; her own family being buried long ago and far away. Why would she visit his by herself?

But here Claire could clear her mind and speak. If she was pretending that she was speaking to her father-in-law, she would have to admit her own actions and try to see Jamie’s side. Few and far between, these visits were only when all Hell broke loose, when everything seemed to be shattering in their relationship. Claire spent several hours there, playing over everything she knew and everything she knew about Jamie, mixed with what she had learned today, and tried to see the full puzzle. After her three beers, the others being for Brian and the earth for their time and for allowing her to bend the preverbal ears, she had a theory. Never being one to back down, she said her thanks again, poured out the remaining liquid and left, making her way home.

Glass of water and envelope in hand, she sat at the kitchen table and waited, knowing with every certainty she held in him and them, he would come home tonight.

——- 

 

He ran through hundreds of ways to start, but each one seemed worse than the last. He had no right to speak to her and he knew it, so he stared at his hands and kept trying to breathe. Finally, Claire pushed the envelope in front of him and very quietly said

“Looks like your time’s up. We don’t have to deal with this now if you’d prefer. We’ll get you ready, and for the sake of keeping you alive, we can pretend everything is fine. Alright?”

Looking down he read the return address and he understood her calm. She would know more than almost anyone else in his life why he couldn’t fight this battle right now. He had to focus everything he had on the one he was getting shipped to.

Finishing her water, she uncurled herself from the chair, stood, and held out her hand to Jamie. He could have cried at the look of undeserved tenderness in her eyes. He wanted to fight her, to have her yell or scream, or do anything other than what she was doing for him. He didn’t deserve her in any form, but certainly not the warmth and love of her body that she was clearly offering. Taking her hand, he silently allowed her to take him to their bedroom, removed his clothes, and allowed himself to be unburdened within her for however long he needed tonight. Only when her breathing evened out did he allow himself to cry.

——-

When Jamie woke up, everything was the same as it had been. Claire had gone to work with nothing left out of place in their home past a coffee mug in the sink. He had come straight home that night, filled with the optimism of a child waiting for a gift in the mail. He knew it had been foolish to think any different, but when she wasn’t home, he was crushed. There were bags of supplies for his upcoming deployment in the entryway, but nothing else. He had decided against the pub and took up on the couch with a book. He was long asleep when Claire got home and made her way to what was now most assuredly her bedroom.

And so it went, for the weeks leading up to his departure, there were no conversations, minimal interaction, but she had kept her word, she never brought up that night in the pub, and for all intents and purposes, everything was fine. Same as before, quick notes letting the other know where they were, if not home. A shouted “I’m leaving” if the other was awake when the time for work came around.

The biggest and likely most dangerous shift between them came the day his bags were packed, and he was due to report in. In previous deployments, Claire would not leave his side until the absolute last second, tears would fill her eyes, and she would whisper declarations of love and threats if he didn’t come home in one piece, and there would always be something small in his pack as a surprise for when he got too homesick and had a moment to himself. This time though, she wasn’t there. She was at work. She had texted him that she was sorry she couldn’t be there, and to “be safe”. Despite what his heart wanted in that moment, he knew it was a luxury he couldn’t afford just now. He needed to clear his mind and get through this mission. He’d do what he could in letters to explain everything and apologize and hope that the months apart would be enough to begin repairs on what he had so completely shattered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright everyone, this is the end and I hope you all enjoy it, I have had the final scene in my head since I got @kalendraashtar ‘s secret Santa request. This story has been an absolute pleasure to write, I truly hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. This chapter, like those before it took longer than I had hoped ad kind of kicked my butt. However, I had amazing editing help from the AMAZING @mo-nighean-rouge I can not thank her enough! As always, comments and constructive criticism are encouraged. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE let me know if the “Keep Reading” function doesn’t work. This is a very long chapter, and I didn’t want to clog your dash. So, without further ado, I give you part 4.

Holding the envelope in her hand, it occurred to her that she just might prefer to be holding a bomb. To her, it would be less foreboding, as she hadn’t been expecting this. Jamie had been gone for three months and this was the first letter she had received. She knew, though, that there would be more in the next few weeks; (she hoped) it was unlikely that he had only written the one. With how they left things between them, she knew he would be writing in every free moment he had. With Jamie well and truly gone for the foreseeable future, she had time to think about what she should write back. She had a lot that needed to be said, things they had to get sorted and decisions that needed to be made, but in reality? Nothing could be done together, not now, not with him God knows where.

Hell, she didn’t even know if he’d be allowed to get mail, or where he was for that matter. It was because of everything before that she was in this situation, with no information. To be fair though, she didn’t think he knew where he was going, and possibly didn’t even know how long he would be gone. She hadn’t asked and that haunted her just a bit. Deciding the letter could wait a bit longer, she made some tea and sat for a bit trying to calm her heart and her mind. Nothing good ever came from her being in a state of worry and panic.

Looking around the room, she debated for what was the probably the hundredth time in two days on what color the walls should be. It had been a spur of the moment thought that repainting the spare bedroom was a small enough job she wouldn’t feel bad about doing it without Jamie, but time consuming enough that maybe it could act as a distraction. So far though, she had been wrong. She flipped through the swatch book yet again wishing the perfect color would just announce itself. When it didn’t, she let out a frustrated groan and threw it across the room. That seemed to be her primary emotion lately, frustration. With herself, with Jamie, and God help anyone who talked to her.

Joe and Geillis had learned quickly to stick to work and little else. Jenny tried a bit harder, but one afternoon call that ended in yelling and then sobs from both women put an end to calls containing more than peasantries and “safe topics.” They all understood, of course. Everyone knew that deployment was rough for those left at home, and thankfully for Claire, only Joe and Jenny knew of the issues preceding Jamie’s departure. So, there was no pity, just wary concern.

Claire had done little more than work and sleep since he left. Despite not actually seeing him off for the first time ever, she knew the moment the wheels left the ground, and that was when Claire finally broke. She had cried on the hospital locker room floor until Geillis found her and ran for Joe. He had taken her home and called Jenny, who met them at the house with food and movies. This, of course, wasn’t their first rodeo, as previous deployments had constructed this telephone chain of support within their group; each member knew good and bad news within minutes. Jenny had stayed for a few days until Claire removed herself from her self-inflicted solitary confinement in her bedroom. The laundry was done, the house was clean, and Jenny had made enough food to last her until what appeared to be next spring. Claire pulled herself together enough to profusely thank her and then take on the task of trying to convince her sister-in-law to go home and let Joe know she would be taking a few days off from work. She needed the quiet.

While in the more recent past her home was almost always silent, it was an incredibly rowdy silence. She always heard every unuttered word from Jamie, and every silent reply of her own amongst the domestic sounds of life. For months she had stood quietly and allowed him the space and time she thought he needed, that he himself had yelled that he needed. With how he came home the last time, she would have gladly given him anything, thinking she was helping, that it would be the best thing for him. It seemed though, that she had allowed him this time with too much of a blind eye.

Claire wasn’t stupid, she knew her husband, broken as he may be. She knew he was doing his damnedest to push her away, couldn’t bear to be in the same room with her for longer than a few moments. And she knew damn well that there was nothing between him and Mary. For starters Mary just wasn’t that brave, and neither was Jamie. He, more than most, had seen her in a full rage, and battle-worn soldier or not, he steered clear and stayed with Jenny and Ian those nights. So, for that reason alone, she knew what this was. This was Jamie running scared, he had found an easy out, found a way he thought would heap all the blame onto his shoulders and allow for a clean break for her from the Hell he had created. God, even months later, that thought alone made her scoff. After he left, she had gone to visit Brian again, brought her hoppy peace offering and had a nice long chat with him. Father or not, she spared no details, telling him everything that had happened between her and his son. While sitting with him she did her best to understand what all had happened, and what the future might just possibly hold, should everything come home to her.

She hadn’t stopped all communication. No, she wasn’t that cruel. She knew better, she had known when he left that it was wrong, she should have been there. Should not have punished him the way she did. Even if she didn’t notice she was doing so at the time. She should have kissed his cheek and begged him to come home, but she didn’t, she cowered. She hid within the safe and sterile walls of the hospital to keep her head in the sand just a bit longer. She could hurt him just as much as he could her, and she did. This new letter was just that, the newest bullet lodged within her vest, she took the hit and kept moving, ignoring the important issues they would have to talk about. She had been shocked as it was that he had written at all. She had thought that her absence from his sendoff would have secured radio silence for the duration of the deployment. But Jamie was just as he had always been, when “at work.” He could not afford to differentiate. There was “home” Jamie and “work” Jamie, and work Jamie wrote letters. She just couldn’t compartmentalize like he could, not in this regard.

Looking once more at the color swatches she chose a pale green, deciding it would be a nice uninstructive, calm color. She poured a glass of whisky, placed it on the table and opened his letter, praying to whomever was listening that the smell alone could bring him home.

Claire’s letter covered the bases, what she had done at work, the choice to repaint the spare bedroom, and of course, for distraction or not, the gossip of the neighborhood. She prattled on with almost anything she could think of to fill the page. She longed to know more about what he was doing there and what he had been thinking when he was home, Hell, she longed to know if he knew when he might be home for that matter but knew better than to voice those things right now. Fighting tears, she signed off and stuffed an envelope before anything else should slip her hand and into the worried mind of her preoccupied husband and sealed it with stamps. As she left the room for bed, she knew that final letter would lay there resting on the kitchen table next to an untouched glass of whisky, hopes, dreams, and hurt for at least tonight, and maybe even the next night.

Three and a half months! Jamie’s last letter had been three and half months ago, and damnit, that hurt the most. Normally she would have written it off as being part of “the mission” but the other families who had been left at home by members of his team had spoken about their most recent letter, recent as last week! And really, he couldn’t at least play along? God knew she had. She had routinely written to him each week, even if there was nothing to tell. She did her part. But from him? Nothing. And that just killed her. She had done everything aside from actually jumping the gun and telling him that when he got home he could go directly to hell, do not pass ‘Go’, no $200!

She didn’t, of course, as she rationally knew there could be any one of a million good reasons for the silence. So, she continued to play the part, and ignore the voice in her mind. To distract herself. She had caught up on all her patient notes, files, and clinical work. She cleaned out her junk drawers, reorganized the kitchen, living room, and was currently trying again to learn how to knit. She had lunch with Joe and Gail, Geillis, and Mary Hawkins. She had spent time with Jenny, Ian and their brood. Hell, she had gotten desperate enough to even check in with someone that everyone was still pretending was her friend, Mary McNab! But nothing had soothed her.

Thankfully, Claire was more fortunate than most. She had treated some very influential people during their time on the base, and because of that, she had never been more pleased with her bedside manner. Colonel Jacobson believed her to have saved his life last year when she had stayed with him every step of the way from birthday barbeque to post-op after his gallbladder burst. Because of that connection she was able to get the minimum information: that Jamie was alive and communicating. She hadn’t asked for more, accepting that information alone as the best Christmas gift she could receive. Thanking Jacobson repeatedly as well as every and any god she had ever heard of.

Christmas was only a few days away, and she was having trouble bringing herself to even Scrooge levels of caring. If it were up to her, she would spend the coming weeks elbows deep in patients or gorging on food and try for a time to forget everything that had recently made up the soap opera that was her life. Unfortunately, she had been ordered by Joe to “stay the Hell away from the hospital!” She needed the time, had things to do, needed time to herself, anything else at all. Supposedly he didn’t care what she did as long as it wasn’t within hospital walls. So, she fixed the tree topper one last time, placed the last ball on the tree and hung the final stocking. Sighing, she walked out of the room humming, as sarcastically as she could: It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

 

——-

Jamie carefully folded and pocketed his last letter from Claire. He couldn’t tell you why he hadn’t written back, he just hadn’t. The closest reason he could think of was that he had been stunned. He had hoped that when Claire hadn’t sent him off, the final nail had been hit. His mission with Mary was complete, and then Claire could be free of him. But apparently that wasn’t the case. Claire was playing by the standard deployment rules and writing him as always. Little things, like what she had done or seen. Each and every word more heartbreaking to him than the last.

He was torn, half of him wanted nothing more than to write back and tell her everything, apologize and beg forgiveness. He had tried, but after a few months away, he had seemingly lost the ability to lie anymore; it was too much. He already couldn’t tell her where he was, what he was doing, when/if he might be home. And Hell, he couldn’t even begin to explain ‘before’ to her. He was lost. Well, as lost as he could allow himself to be at this moment. He kept his cool, kept to the mission, and according to the higher-ups, had completed it. Black Jack had been killed and his prisoners were taken to facilities to be seen to and released. He was done. The debrief and settling of final details would take a bit of time, but it was done. The Devil himself had seen his executioner and his reign of hell was over. Jamie could go home.

That had been almost four months ago. The debriefing and sessions took longer than anyone had anticipated. He knew he should have sent word to Claire, everyone else had written home, to give some hope, that all was well and soon they’d be reunited, but he just couldn’t. What would he say, where would he even begin? “Merry Christmas Claire, we should really talk?” No, He couldn’t; he knew without a shadow of a doubt he would never live through that, and so he read. He read every letter from her, from Jenny, hell even from Joe. Jamie had been told the safe, un-stressful version of everyone’s life and worked towards whatever tomorrow might bring.

With the closing of his uniform pocket, Jamie learned that “Tomorrow” suddenly was a literal term and surprisingly, his life had become a Hallmark movie. He would be home for Christmas. With no time to think, he packed his things, got to where he was told to be and waited for his flight home to Claire.

Having grown up in the highlands, Jamie always expected snow for Christmas, but in recent years he seemed to always be disappointed. As he deboarded the plane the cold, dry air hit him squarely in the memories of Christmases past, and how he longed for Claire. A short but violent pang reminded him of what waited for him. She had no clue he was home. He knew, of course, that she was kept informed, knew of men who spoke of his wife’s healing without knowing his connection. He had been told by Jacobson himself of the inquires made by her and had given permission to divulge his vital status. But she had no earthly idea she would be able to verify that all herself in just a few hours.

He had stopped at the base, checked in and been sent home almost immediately. He had called to leave word with Jenny, stopped as always to see his da, and then with a deep breath for courage, made his way home.

To Jamie’s absolute astonishment there were lights strung up around the windows. He could see the tree and stockings. He stopped the car in front of the house and just stared. He had, of course expected her to still be there living her life, he just hadn’t thought it would be so cheerful. He supposed he hadn’t thought about what her day-to-day was like when he was away, but Bing Crosby had never once come to mind.

Pulling into the driveway, he parked, grabbed his bag and made his way in. As a soldier he had always done his best to at least have an idea as to what he was walking into, but this time he was going in blind. Joe had congratulated him on a safe return, as did Jenny, and both had done so with an almost sad tone mixed with amusement and wished him “good luck” when he confirmed he would be going home to Claire. Their reactions had unnerved him, Jenny’s especially, as she had never been shy around something she felt he should know. One last breath and he unlocked the door.

If the image from the outside had confused him, the inside felt unreal. Every single decoration they owned was up, music was playing (ironically, it was Bing Crosby) and the air smelt of cinnamon and nutmeg. Hollywood itself couldn’t manufacture the overwhelming sense of holiday cheer. But as far as he could see Claire was nowhere to be found. The main floor was empty, as was their bedroom, aside from wrapping paper scraps and a half-drunk glass of… something, maybe juice?

The bathroom door was open, darkness apparent, but the music itself was coming from their spare bedroom, and so was a light. Haltingly, he made his way to the door and turned the handle.

The music never stopped, but the world did. He stood slack-jawed in the doorframe, trying desperately to get his mind around everything he saw. The room had been repainted, the desk and papers removed and, in their place now stood a crib, stuffed toys, and of course his wife. There in the lowly lit room sat Claire in a rocking chair, rubbing her large belly and humming along with the song. When she noticed him, she didn’t seem surprised to see him, only offering a small smile and beckoning him to her side. He numbly followed the instruction of her crooked figure and came to stand beside her. Claire took his hand, placed it on her stomach and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Jamie.”


End file.
